


Breaking His Walls

by PlayingChello



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon, Explicit Smut, Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, blowjob, but really, it's canonverse, it's mostly just emotional sex, um, what do you honestly expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike and Erwin share a moment after the 57th Expedition</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking His Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write erumike smut, [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) wanted me to write _canon_ erumike smut, and this was born. 
> 
> Thanks to Kaden for reading through it and telling me to keep the very last bit. Thank them for your broken hearts.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

It had been a long day.

Expedition 57 had been a disaster. Not that it had been completely unsuccessful, we managed to root out that there indeed _was_ a traitor among the ranks. Somewhere. Erwin’s still locked in meetings with some of the younger recruits to see if they can come to a conclusion as to who exactly it was. And Eren is still laid up in bed, being watched over carefully by Levi and his friends. Even his titan healing has to take some time after what he’s been through.

But finally headquarters is starting to calm down some. People are fed, the injured are being seen to, the dead have been returned to their families—at least what we have left of them after the incident on the way back. Which wasn’t much. It’s sad, that we couldn’t give the families of our fallen comrades more. I think Levi’s taken it the worst, though. He always does, even if he won’t show it.

I always smell him before I hear him. Leather, gunpowder, grass, blood, military issue soap, it all mingles together on all of us. But he’s different, he’s got all of that and more. It’s earthy and heavy and masculine. I’d given up long ago trying to describe it exactly, and instead I’d rather just enjoy it.

Erwin.

“Mike.”

I don’t have to turn around to see he’s still wearing his Commander’s air about him, but I do anyway. We aren’t _alone_ even though no one else is around. Alone isn’t until we’re behind closed doors. Only then will he let himself show through behind the mask.

“Have you eaten yet, Commander?” I ask more as a pretense than actual curiosity, although I do care. He tends to forego meals when he’s stressed. And he certainly has reason to be stressed right now.

“Yes, I was thinking of turning in for the night. You should get some rest, too.” We’re either the best-kept or worst-kept secret and I can never really figure out which. Levi knows, but it’s not like he’s going to say anything to anyone. Hanji… probably knows, but we haven’t told them. As for anyone else, they’ve either guessed or they don’t care. And it doesn’t matter, because it isn’t for them. It’s for us.

I nod to him, understanding the hidden invitation in his words, the silent _with me_. We walk together to the officers’ quarters, careful distance between us the whole time. It doesn’t bother me—not really—all this fronting we do. As long as we’re real when the door closes and he’s still here after an expedition, that’s all that matters.

He doesn’t look guilty when I unapologetically follow him into his room, doesn’t glance around in case anyone else might see. He doesn’t need to. For one, he already knows where everyone is and that they aren’t here. But on top of that, he doesn’t regret the relationship we’ve built, the closeness we have.

And that is abundantly clear with the way he sags into my arms as soon as the door closes behind me.

I can feel my shirt dampen with silent tears as he breaks and I hold him close, gently guiding him to the bed. Once we’re laid down, facing each other with his face buried in my chest and his hair tickling my nose, he starts sobbing. There’s not too much more I can do beyond holding him against me and running my fingers through his hair.

Somewhere between minutes and hours later (it’s always impossible to tell when I’m with him) Erwin’s hands clench and twist in my shirt and the force with which he holds on to me is almost painful. But his sobs have slowed, his breathing calmed down. And, just maybe, his tears have stopped flowing.

When his head turns and he looks up at me, I find myself staring into glassy blue eyes, still watery, but so full of hope and caring.

“I’m a terrible person. A monster.”

The words are a vice on my heart, each letter a tiny shard of glass driving into the muscle and poking it full of tiny holes. I lean down and capture him in a brief, tear stained kiss. “You care too much. You do what needs to be done, that’s what makes you such a great leader. We didn’t capture the traitor and people died today, but we know more. You did the right thing.”

All of my words are saved for him. I don’t talk much, but he needs to hear these things, needs to know he’s not looked down on by his soldiers. He doesn’t care about the rest of the world, the military police, the church, all the people that think we should be shut down. He’s doing all of this for them, but their opinions of him don’t matter. But he thinks he let down the soldiers of the Survey Corp today. Let people die needlessly.

“They trusted me.”

“They still do. I still do. We need you.”

Silence. One more single tear falls from his eye and he just stares at me. And he just looks so vulnerable. I’m thankful to be trusted enough that he’ll show this side of himself to me, but it breaks my heart seeing him so broken.

Then he speaks, “Thank you. I’m glad you made it back alive.”

And finally I can smile at him, because that’s what it comes down to. We’re here, we’re alive. The world may still be going to shit, but we have this moment.

I don’t need words to tell him I’m glad he’s alive as well. I say it well enough with my lips pressed against his, gently working him open so I can taste him. My fingers say it well enough as they dance along the complicated leather harness of the ODM gear so they can pull at the buckles. It’s obvious how I feel.

Erwin makes tiny little noises against me while he works at my shirt buttons and ODM straps. It’s slow, careful, and deliberate. We have time so there is no need to rush this. We just want to feel each other. Hold on as if we could die tomorrow. Because we could.

Eventually, he manages to push leather and cotton off of my shoulders and our mouths part so he can mouth down my throat and to my chest. The feel of him is light and just more than tentative. It sends shivers down my spine and I almost lose hold on the buckle I’m working on. When his tongue circles one of my nipples, I do. Instead, I ground myself with my hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt and make a low sound in my throat. I know he likes it when I moan, likes to know he does things to me. And he does indeed.

But I do things to him, too.

After getting a handle back on his gear, and finally getting all of the buckles undone enough that it falls loose around him, I shift and roll over on top of him. And this is my favourite thing to see: Erwin, laid out with his hair a mess, vulnerable but still fierce and fiery, achingly beautiful. Even covered in the scars of battle (aren’t we all now?), he’s magnificent. “You’re beautiful, Erwin.” And the way he looks back at me, not with embarrassment or denial, but with awe and love, sends me reeling.

“You are, too.”

He’s the only one who has ever called me beautiful. I’m not the kind of person that gets called beautiful, too big, too thick, too scruffy. But that’s alright, because _he_ thinks I’m beautiful.

And his eyes are still wet, still red and a bit puffy, but he just stares up at me like he’s looking into my soul. Keeps staring at me as my hands wander over him slowly, pulling down the pendant of his bolo tie so I can slip it over his head. Never takes his eyes off me while I maneuver his shirt off of him and he shifts so I can pull it from under him. Doesn’t stop looking at me when my hands flatten out on his abdomen, move up over the planes of him, and finally come up to cup his face.

It’s only when I lean in for a kiss that he finally closes his eyes.

Our lips meet softly, but there’s a certain desperation there. A plea. _Please don’t leave. Stay safe. Come back alive._ It’s always there, but it’s especially present here, pressed together like this, skin on skin. And when his hips roll slowly up into mine and he pulls back just enough to whisper a heated “Mike… please” against my lips, it’s almost painful how clearly he needs this. How clearly _I_ need this.

These are the best nights. Even with the tears, even with the pervading horror hanging over our heads. Because just for now we can forget that. Forget it and just _be_ together. My mouth wanders to pepper kisses anywhere I can reach and he makes these little hiccupping sounds and I think he might be crying again. When I make my way back up to kiss his cheek, I find it wet and know he is.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” And I do. I always have, always stood behind him. Ever since we were trainees, awkward and young, and far too idealistic. Although, I don’t think Erwin has ever really lost that quality, which is why he has such a strong sense of where we _could_ be. It’s a quality I admire, will always admire. He’s such a passionate person, and I’ll always follow him, always stand behind him. Whether we face titans, humans, or just our own personal demons. I’ll support him.

It takes long moments of soft kisses, of thumbs brushing away fresh tears, of fingers through hair, before Erwin stops crying again. Stops crying and pulls me into him and holds me there to slide my shirt the rest of the way off. When he loosens his hold on me, I sit back on his thighs. I can feel his eyes on me as mine rove over his body, following the path my fingers make down his sides until they’re stopped by his pants.

My eyes flick up to his and he gives me the barest of nods, urging me to continue. I scoot back on the bed until I’m at his feet. Carefully, reverently, I begin removing his boots. They’re covered in dust and a little blood and smell of the day’s ride. But they got him through the day alive. Next I move on to the buckles of the lower half of his ODM gear. After the years we’ve spent in the military, putting on and taking off the gear is muscle memory and can be done quickly. But I don’t want to go quickly, I can take my time. I can watch the way he squirms just slightly as my fingers brush him as I undo each buckle with care. I can see the way his breath catches when I finally get to the last one, keeping the gear tight around his waist.

The straps fall away easily once the buckles have all been undone, leaving him in only his white, military issue pants. I pause, kneeling between his legs, to crawl back up to him and plant a chaste kiss to his forehead before I roll off the mattress to do away with the rest of my own gear. I’ve barely gotten my boots off before I feel Erwin’s hands on my hips. I hadn’t even heard him move.

“Let me?”

He still sounds so fragile, but his voice is strong and unwavering. I nod with a hard swallow and he’s kneeling in front of me in an instant. His hands are strong, calloused, and feel _heavenly_ running over me, undoing my straps, with this worshipping kind of reverence. The way he looks up at me, like I’m something to cherish, it startles me every time, no matter how long we’ve done this. It’s intoxicating.

All I can hear is the sound of our heavy breathing, out of sync and forming a symphony between us, and then the sound of my zipper as Erwin pulls it down slowly. I sigh heavily and my eyes slide shut as he frees my straining cock. I feel his breath puff hotly over me and he kisses my thigh then hums against me. “It’s been too long.”

I hum my agreement. It’s been weeks. Making sure the new recruits were ready for the expedition had taken precedence and, subsequently, all of our energy. It was all we could do to collapse into the mattress before we were asleep. And even before that, opportunity had been far and few between with Erwin constantly filing paperwork as to Eren’s progress, state of mind, how dangerous he was.

Any thoughts I had been having about the unfortunate lack of frequency of our time together is cut short when Erwin licks his way up the underside of my cock. His tongue is hot and wet and the feeling of it makes me shudder and it takes all of my conscious thought just to keep myself standing. He’s an expert at pulling soft moans from my throat, little sighs of pleasure. He knows every spot, and yet he still manages to find more, years later.

When I feel the heavy coil in my gut, the familiar impending orgasm, I reach down to gently push him off of me. “Don’t want to come yet. Want to make this last. Want _you_.”

His pupils are dark and blown wide and he stares hungrily up at me. I step back and out of my pants while he stands.

And then something shifts.

Suddenly we’re crashing into each other _hard_. It’s all tongue and teeth and grasping fingers desperate against skin. It takes a couple failed attempts before I manage to get the catch of his pants open and the zipper down, but as soon as I do, I shove them out of the way, taking his underwear with it. Our mouths never part as we stumble back into the bed, falling together in a tangled mess of naked limbs. But that’s how it’s best.

Somehow, I end up in such a position that I can scrape my teeth along his collarbone, not enough to leave a mark but more than enough to feel.

“Hhnnng. Need-” he cuts off and his hands find the backs of my thighs, just below my ass and he grinds me down into him. The friction sends jolts down my whole body and rips a deep sound from my chest. My hand reaches above our heads, scrabbling at the bedside table until my fingers finally wrap around the little glass bottle I had been searching for.

Bottle in hand, I pull back and everything stops for a second. My breath catches with the sight of him and I can feel my expression change to something dripping with all the affection I feel for the man below me. And _finally_ he smiles. And that smile could light up the world. It certainly lights up mine.

And I am _so close_ to saying the words that have remained implied between us. But it’s not the right time. And he has to know already. Has to see it in the way my hands caress him, how I let my guard down only when I’m with him, it’s got to be written across my face with how I look at him.

He squirms and grinds me into him again and it snaps my attention back to the action at hand. He’s expectant and so damn _needy_ and I can’t wait to watch him fall apart in the _best_ way. The cork takes a bit of effort to get out from the bottle while I move to kneel between his legs. He bends his knees and lets them fall to the sides, opening himself to me, all walls shattered and broken to rubble at my feet.

I coat my fingers liberally with oil before bringing them down to tease at his entrance and his moan is beautifully obscene. I can feel his stress melt away as he relaxes to let me press a finger inside of him and it’s so _hot_ and _tight_ and the feeling of it causes my cock to twitch in my anticipation. But I make sure to stretch him slowly and carefully, only adding another finger when he’s completely relaxed, then scissoring them apart to open him further. By the time I add a third finger, he’s rutting his hips back into me with little desperate whimpers and quiet half words.

When he jolts and opens his mouth in a silent scream, I know I’ve found that place deep inside him. I take a few more moments thrusting my fingers into that spot over and over again, loving his increasing volume at my efforts. Then I pause my assault and slow to a gentle massage of his inner walls while I lean forward to kiss him, “Ready?”

“ _Please._ ” It’s choked and utterly _wrecked_ and I smile against his lips with the knowledge that this was _me_. That _I_ was able to bring him the pleasure. And I’m not even finished yet.

He whines when I withdraw my fingers and I just smirk while I spread oil on myself. He reaches toward me and big hands wrap around mine to help spread the oil. Satisfied, I take his hands in mine and pin them on either side of his head as I push into him at an agonisingly slow pace. Our eyes lock and I watch him for any sign of discomfort, but all I find is rapt pleasure as he squeezes my hands.

My hips finally find a place flush against him as I bottom out and I flatten myself against him, trying to connect as much of our bodies as I possibly can. Sweat slick skin against skin and I can feel his laboured breathing while he adjusts to the fullness. Eventually, he turns his head to capture my lips and shifts his hips. Taking the signal, I pull back ever so slightly and grind back into him. And that’s the pace I set, deep and grinding, agonising and _so wonderful_. Our fingers untangle so he can grasp at my shoulders and I can cradle his face.

Our mouths clash in more of open mouthed panting than anything resembling actual kisses and his fingers dig into me and leave marks down my back. His legs wrap tightly around my waist and he pulls me closer to him, impossibly so, until we’re simply a tangle of skin and sweat and shared breath.

He turns his head enough to mouth down my jaw and throat, wherever he can reach, before he pleads for me to go _faster_.

I have to pull away from him some in order to be able to pull back enough to speed up my thrusts, setting a new rhythm and the angle is _perfect_. It coaxes keening, pleasured moans from him and I’m panting with the effort. I want it to last, I want to stay like this forever, just on the edge of something but never quite there, never having to stop and return to responsibility and the constant threat of death.

But when he starts begging to come, barely managing a complete word, telling me how close he is, I can’t deny him. I never can. My left hand finds his right again holding on tight and my right hand reaches between us to stroke him. I barely manage three strokes before he’s releasing and the unrestrained shout sends me over directly after him.

We collapse into each other, hands still threaded together and too tired to separate, much less clean ourselves. I pepper kisses on his face, offering every unspoken declaration I can, just trying to convey all of the emotion I feel for this beautiful man.

Sleep comes easily after that, exhaustion catching up to both of us.

\-----------------------------

The next time Erwin returns from beyond wall Rose, he’s less one arm and he wakes up to a pressing absence in the room. When Levi and Hanji give their reports, all he wants to know is why there isn’t a third person standing there, giving his as well. By the time they tell him, Hanji’s eyes full of sympathy and Levi’s hard, he’s already expecting it. He puts up his walls, steels himself, and gets down to business.

That night, he’s all alone, and no one is there to watch him fall apart.

No one hears his broken whisper.

“I love you.”


End file.
